


Better Off Without

by impish_nature



Series: A Step In The Wrong Direction [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher - Freeform, Dipper Pines - Freeform, Gen, Grifting Stars AU, Mabel Pines - Freeform, Rebuilding bridges, Reverse portal (Kind of), mentions of - Freeform, warning: blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: Grifting Stars AU. After thirty years of work, thirty years of effort, Stan is finally ready to open the portal. Unfortunately for him, the world has never been fair.Part Two: Stan knows what he has to do. No matter how much it hurts





	Better Off Without

**Author's Note:**

> This part of the a story I’ve had in my head from the start of our conversations so I hope I did it justice c:  
> But also - I feel like this took 4 hours to write and 5 hours to edit so I’m officially done with it ^^;

This wasn’t how he’d expected their reunion to go.

Hell, it wasn’t how he’d envisioned their adventure of a lifetime to work out either, if it ever did.

Which was painfully ironic considering it might as well have been. What would his younger self have thought if he told him that instead of exploring the world together, he was exploring different  _galaxies_ , different  _dimensions_  with his twin? That after all that time apart, they were now finally journeying, just the two of them, like they’d always said. Sure there was no boat, no babes or riches, but really- none of that had mattered to Stan even when they were kids.

Well, not really anyway.

The point had always been them against the world, the two of them finding their place in the world, their safe haven and sticking together through hell and high water.

At least to him it had been. He’d long since started wondering if it had only been him that had seen it that way.

Even now it seemed that was still the case, the ‘adventure of a lifetime’ as he so mockingly called it in his head was fraught with tense uneasy silences, snappish, venomous remarks and a very obvious animosity from the one person he’d so desperately been trying to find all these years.

…Some things, it seemed, would never change. He couldn’t seem to do anything right when it came to his brother. Every step was a step out of turn. Wrong place, wrong time, never where he needed to be no matter what he tried to do. It was hard to imagine that once upon a time, his brother’s scolding would have had an endearing quality to it, an exasperation that spoke of concern and worry for his well-being, instead of a total disregard for his every attempt to help.

He guessed he’d burned all those bridges when they were teenagers.

Still, it hadn’t stopped him hoping.

Stan sighed, a deep bone weary sound that rumbled through his chest, stretching back to stare at unfamiliar stars, his arms straight out behind him to keep him upright. The fire crackled ahead of him, another new branch thrown in for it to spit and hiss around, as he kept the first watch of the night, the darkness sinking in around them to create a halo around the fire. A bubble of warmth and safety that fell surprising short of it’s intention considering the frosty atmosphere that had settled in since they’d started travelling together.

His brother was sound asleep beside him, looking more at peace than he ever did awake, his scowl lines smoothed out by the soft waves of rest that he had fallen into. It wouldn’t take much for him to stir, however. Another point against him that Stan couldn’t help but deflate at, as his eyes wandered away from his twin and over the wooded area they’d made camp in.

Ford didn’t even really trust him to keep watch, to protect and watch over him- the one thing he thought he’d always be good at. Heck, the only reason he probably felt confident enough to sleep at all was the copious amounts of traps and strings he had tied around the grove of trees that encompassed them- another thing that Stan had been forbidden from helping with, and added to his crushing thoughts. He had at least shown him how each and every one worked and what they looked and sounded like when they went off, information born of necessity he was sure. He could probably justify it all, if he really thought about it, if he wanted to stop wallowing in self-deprecation and self-loathing. Ford knew these weird worlds they found themselves on, knew what to look out for and what to worry about unlike Stan. Of course he didn’t trust Stan to look after them against unknown threats. Not when his only answer to most puzzles was punch and ask questions later.

Still… it didn’t make him feel better knowing his brother wasn’t resting properly whenever he kept watch, slept with one eye open and his gun tight to his chest.

It made him think of sleeping in his car all alone, of every noise being a threat and the silence being just as unsettling in the dead of night. Nights when the paranoia set in and every shadow shifted in the corners of his vision. Nights of squinting into the darkness just to be safe, just to be sure, because the alternative of being cautious had been his downfall before, and he couldn’t- not again-

He swallowed down the age old choking fear, that familiar acquaintance that was more than happy to stop him sleeping through the night. But even pushing the memories away, they only furthered his spiralling thoughts, concern and pain mingling in his chest to remind him that Ford should never have gone through anything like that. That his nerd of a brother was only this way because he’d pushed him into dangerous uncharted territory thirty years ago.

He groaned again, freezing as Ford stirred, his eyebrows furrowing and head shaking as his fingers twitched. He stayed locked up, not even breathing until his brother’s face relaxed once more and he rolled over in his sleep, further away from him, another sad pang thumping through his chest at the action. Even in sleep, his brother pulled away from him. He let his breath out in a quiet hiss, scrubbing down his face as he pulled his gaze away from the miserable thoughts staring at his brother brought forth and back to the flickering flames before him.

Everything was a mess.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

He’d thought- heh, hoped-  _wished_ , more like- that if they were stuck together, maybe things would get better. They’d go back to being brothers, forced by circumstance to deal with things and communicate and everything else that came with it. They’d do whatever they needed to do to get back on track and the world might finally right itself to at least- well,  _something_ , some kind of relationship between them again. Some kind of semblance of order between them that would prove that somewhere much further down the line things would be OK again.

Not this… coldness. This nothingness where a connection should be.

Ford might as well have been a stranger, if it wasn’t for the fact that a stranger might at least try to become an acquaintance when it was obvious you’d be travelling with each other for a long time. Every attempt at a conversation ended abruptly, either dying off before it had really begun or ending in an argument that he wasn’t up for holding with his brother anymore.

It was exhausting.

It had been a month. A solid month, with no other human contact and he was  _aching_ to see the kids again, desperate to know that they were safe, that they hadn’t been hurt in all the chaos and were being looked after.

A month with no one but his brother for company and his brother still chose his journals over even attempting to talk to him in more than one word answers.

He wasn’t sure how much more his heart could take.

Stan glanced at Ford one more time before quietly standing, shuffling over to the other side of the fire so he could pace, hopefully without waking him. He needed to move, needed to get some of the tension out of his shoulders and out of his head before he did something he would regret- something somewhere between screaming into the night sky and curling up into a ball and sobbing.

It all felt like a losing battle though. Every thought, every niggling doubt was creeping in past his defences. All his armour, every wall that he had built over the last forty years, had been chiselled slowly away. Cracked by the jarring separation from the kids, broken further by the toll of the last months travels, each argument and foreboding silence another tremor through the foundations. He wanted to get home, wanted to help Ford come up with plans and ideas on how to do it, but he knew nothing- had nothing to give to the conversation. What did he know about all of this? It had taken him thirty years to get this far, to repair a portal someone else had built. He didn’t know how it worked, he was just running on what had already been given to him, off of instructions and some risky trial and error that had led to more accidents than accomplishments. He wouldn’t know where to start in making one from scratch with no parts, no research, let alone any idea to get home that _didn’t_  include a portal at it’s centre.

He had nothing. Nothing to give, nothing to help. This wasn’t a problem in his realm of knowledge. He couldn’t solve this. He couldn’t fix it.

He’d been trying so hard for so long to fix things. And what did he have to show for it?

_Useless._

And the worst part was- none of that even really mattered. It didn’t matter what he could bring to the table if Ford wouldn’t even let him try, wouldn’t give him the time of day and just  _talk to him_.

Which led to the other doomed fight. The want and need for his brother to accept him again. For him to in some way forgive him for everything that had happened between them. He’d never thought it’d be an easy transition, but he’d always hoped getting Ford back to their dimension would at least fix some of his mistakes- that it would be a start. Then he’d fallen through instead, and all those thoughts had been turned upside down.

At first he’d even understood it. He hadn’t done a very good job of getting Ford home. In fact falling through after him, might have been the exact opposite of what he’d been planning. So Ford shaking him and yelling at him, though unwanted and frankly unnecessary in the circumstances, had at least made sense.

And at the very least Ford hadn’t left him behind, which had to mean something… right?

Not that it changed the fact that once they’d escaped, once there was no pressing danger at their heels, and Ford had checked him over, making sure he wasn’t hurt- something that had mildly comforted him for all of two seconds- he had then proceeded to punch him.

Hard.

He could still feel the blossoming pain in his cheek, the snap in his neck as he stumbled backwards with the shock of it. Could still see his brother’s scowl and the complete lack of remorse in his eyes. Could still feel the jolt in his chest, the sinking of his heart that every glimpse of his reflection and slight touch to his face had caused, marred by the purple-black bruise that had taken so long to fade from sight. A testament to his brother’s fury. He’d been sure in that moment there would be others, his brother’s hands tight on his forearms again as he shook him and let out all his vitriol.

The words had stung more than the punch.

He almost wished he’d just kept hitting him. At least that way he would have had a chance at healing.

He didn’t know how to heal what Ford had broken with his words.

But then again, he only had himself to blame. Ford had only shown him what had been wrong with him all along.

Because, yet again, he’d done the wrong thing by even  _trying_. That weird creature that had been chasing them, calling out to him, the yellow triangle- that looked about as threatening as one of Mabel’s teddy bears, he couldn’t help but point out- was apparently the creature that had made Ford so paranoid thirty years ago, that he had called _him_  of all people for assistance. That thing that he now wanted to punch with all his being had been trying to catch Ford for thirty years, all so that it could get into their dimension.

And what had he done- oh yeah, opened the portal, just like it wanted.

…Ford hadn’t taken it well when he said he wouldn’t apologise for trying to get him back, that he didn’t regret trying to bring him home.

He also didn’t take it well when he said if he was given the chance he’d do it all over again, though maybe this time he’d make sure he didn’t fall through in his attempts.

Maybe it was that, that stubborn glint to his face, that resolve and foolhardy nature that had finally made Ford give up. He had taken a step back, shook his head in disgust and then that had been it. He’d stopped trying to get Stan to realise the error in his ways, muttered some comments that even now Stan tried his best not to think about and closed off, aloof and disdainful and overall uncaring.

He’d stopped trying altogether.

Or perhaps he’d never tried at all.

Stan’s hands curled into fists as he paused in his pacing. Eyes widening as he stood there in the dark, as all the puzzle pieces fell into place around him.

It didn’t matter what he did.

Nothing would have been different.

Even if he’d succeeded. If he’d brought Ford home, if he’d done everything  _right_ \- nothing would have changed between them.

He would still have been reckless, still have been useless and unnecessary. Done the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Ford had told him that it had been his one shot. The one time that Stan had finally managed to open the portal was also the one time that Ford had been ready to face off against that- whatever it was- and he had ruined his chance at getting rid of it once and for all.

Even when he was trying to do the right thing, he screwed it up.

Ford probably would have still punched him. Would have still shouted and screamed at him.

He’d have probably been more ready for a fight himself too. At least in this scenario he knew he’d messed up. But having Ford so angry at him when he was sure he’d done the right thing for once? When he’d been so desperate for a happy reunion and for Ford to meet Mabel and Dipper?

He would have been livid. Hurt beyond belief and too upset to care about whatever Ford had to say.

That realisation hurt more than anything else. That slimy, sinking feeling at the base of his stomach that no matter what he did, he’d never be good enough, never be able to fix things. That it just wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

Maybe it never had been.

Maybe it was never in the cards for him to get home either.

He swallowed audibly, glancing over at his sleeping brother again. If anyone would be able to get home, it would be Ford, and if he was going to get home- he’d probably find it a lot easier without him hindering him, without him getting in the way and making things worse.

Stan closed his eyes against the wave of sorrow, the guilt that still bubbled up from the depths. Sure, it made sense, sharp, agonising sense, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to get home for the kids. They at least needed him. They were what he was fighting for.

_But…_

Maybe he’d never been any good for them either. Stan swallowed, thinking back on the summer, the messes and the mistakes. The dangerous situations they had gotten into and wouldn’t have if they’d just… never come to stay with him in the first place. It wouldn’t be long before they realised he was no good for them, and if he’d stayed, if he hadn’t fallen through- it wouldn’t have been long before he proved it.

No, they’d all be better off without him screwing things up.

Something snapped loose inside of him. All the resolve, all the strength. He was abruptly adrift, far out to sea, lost in the currents. No one needed him. No one. It might seem like they did, they might even think it themselves, but soon enough they’d all move on, they’d get on with their lives and the world would keep on turning.

He wasn’t needed anywhere.

And maybe that was best for everyone.

Stan swallowed, resolve reforming but in a new light, shifted and warped but still, a resolution nonetheless. He knew what he had to do. It was hard, but he knew when he was defeated, when he had to bite the bullet and change tactics.

…He hoped one day the kids would forgive him.

And with that thought in his head, and the happy memory of the kids solid and warm in his chest, he silently shuffled closer to his brother. He grabbed his bag, packed up the meagre belongings he had gathered along the way as well as any supplies he knew Ford wouldn’t be able to carry on his own- just enough to give himself a start. He stalled for a moment then, just staring at his brother, committing his peaceful, almost happy expression to memory, trying to eclipse the waking moments that had led to this decision in the first place.

And when nothing stopped him- no divine intervention, no call to stay or sudden realisation that this wasn’t the right course of action- he gave in. He stood up, slow and quiet, and walked over to the easiest trap in their fortified ring. He glanced over his shoulder once more before carefully unclipping it like he’d watched Ford do every morning, easing each part off and away before the next so that it didn’t cause a sound. It didn’t stop him from checking on his brother every few seconds, from quickly and quietly dropping his bag on the other side so as not to hit it against anything and methodically resealing the trap.

It wouldn’t do to leave Ford unprotected, then all of this would have been for nothing.

Stan stood up once more, checking over his handy work and giving one last sad look towards the glow of the campsite, the place seeming much warmer, much more reassuring and safe, now that he was outside looking in.

Still, just because it looked that way, didn’t mean he deserved it.

He realised belatedly that he probably should have put another few logs on the fire, enough for Ford to sleep for a few hours more without worry.

Just one last mistake for Ford to remember him by. 

He huffed, a twist of a cold smile tweaking up the side of his mouth, before he turned around, donning his pack and squaring his shoulders against the darkness.

He’d be long gone by the time it went out at least.

Ford wouldn’t have to worry about the messes he could get himself into from this point on.

* * *

…Something didn’t feel right.

“Stan?” Ford groaned as he awoke, groggier and more listless than usual, the fog of sleep permeating through his body in an irritating way. He hated waking up confused and disorientated, it took far too long to get moving, to find the source of danger if there was one. He hadn’t woken up like this in what felt like years, and especially not since Stan had appeared back in his life. If anything happened he now had to look after both of them, his sleep cycle even more sporadic than it once had been. Any noise made him bolt upright, gun in hand, his body snapping to attention and ready to fight within a heart beat, ready to defend and protect. His eyes would snap open whenever Stan rested a hand on his shoulder to give over the watch to him, his body tensely coiled just in case until he saw that it was in fact his brother and that his eyes were their usual brown, and only then would he manage to breathe again without his fight or flight response kicking into action. The first time he had woken him, Stan had reared back, already ready for a punch that never came, the smarting bruise on his jaw still a sore point that Ford couldn’t quite bring himself to apologise for even if the words had been on the tip of his tongue countless times throughout its healing process.

Now wasn’t the time to ruminate on possibly overemotional decisions, however. Not when the haze of sleep clouded his judgement and his anger, and instead pushed towards softer approaches. When his brother’s actions didn’t seem quite as cosmically terrible as they did in the cold hard truth of day and his own seemed exaggerated in response.

Instead he blearily shook his head, scrubbed a hand under his glasses and tried his best to focus on the world around him, finding it difficult to even think about propping himself up to look around let alone actually doing so.

It was warm beneath the blankets, and sleep had been such a struggle for so long- especially with the added weight of another to protect resting on his shoulders… he really was hard pressed to move at all.

He waited a beat in his tiredness, ignoring the quiet hum of a voice at the base of his skull that told him to move and find out what had woken him. Instead he listened, heard the still crackling fire and the whistle of the wind through the trees, both of which only helped sag his drooping shoulders back to the floor. His eyes closed once more without a thought, the insistent tug of sleep on his eyelids too much for him to ignore.

He was sure Stan would let him know if something was amiss.

A pang settled in his heart at the thought, his mind waking even as his body screamed to rest.

Stan had, after all, been letting him know since they had been reunited that something was amiss. A very obvious thing. Between them in fact.

It wasn’t something he was sure he could fix though.

Ford groaned quietly again, rolling over to be closer to the warmth of the fire, hoping that it would dissipate the wayward thoughts and lull him back to sleep. He grumbled quickly when he heard a soft noise, not sure if it was just the breeze or his brother about to say something, but just in case he needed to stop any attempt at a conversation in it’s tracks.

Now was not the time for talk, he’d only make things worse, only snap and snarl in his tired state and send their relationship spiralling further into the void. That is, if he was even capable of words in his exhausted state.

The silence returned, his brother not attempting whatever he might have been about to and Ford in turn relaxed, pulling his blanket tighter around him and curling into as small a ball as possible.

And then the wayward thoughts began anew, the sad pang in his chest deepening and developing. The one that reminded him that once upon a time Stan would have had the confidence to keep trying, that he wouldn’t have let whatever this was that hung between them continue. That when they were younger he would have checked in on him, made sure it was just a bad dream and that he knew as much, or if wasn’t a dream, if he just couldn’t sleep for whatever reason, he would have helped calm him down and let him know he’d always be there looking after him.

…Too much had changed, the chasm between them had grown too wide to cross.

He was right there, but he might as well have still been on the other side of the portal.

He knew he wasn’t helping matters. Knew that there was a high chance they’d be travelling together for a very long time and yet…

It was just so hard to swallow down the anger.

It was so hard to let him in. He wanted to, he hadn’t even really realised that he wanted to until he saw him again. He’d missed his brother, missed the banter and the sibling rivalry. Missed his best friend who was always meant have his back, always meant to be at his side.

But things had gone so wrong, he’d trusted in him one too many times.

And he’d spent so long alone now. None of it came naturally anymore. Trying to cheer someone up, keep them in high spirits- it just wasn’t something he’d had to do in a very long time. He’d never been very social and after thirty years of never really staying in one place, always on the run, always keeping his secrets close to his chest… it was just so difficult to engage. So difficult to know what to do or say. He could see his brother trying, could see his poor and awkward attempts but figuring out how to respond had become a lost skill that he was only just coming to grips with again.

They’d never been great at actually communicating their issues. They hadn’t needed to for a long time, both of them open books to the other, and so words had never been their forte. An argument would usually be forgotten within an instant and they were back to their usual closeness without any hassle on either of their parts.

Now… now he couldn’t recall how any of that had worked between them. Obviously it didn’t anymore, and perhaps it never had considering how poorly everything had gone in their relationship.

Or perhaps… perhaps he’d never learnt how to make it work.

His brother had always been the sociable one, the one who knew how to start and end a fight, even between themselves.

But now his brother stood awkwardly at the sideline, deflated and defeated, giving up on him with every breath and he couldn’t  _fix things_. He couldn’t solve the puzzle that their relationship had become.

So instead, he didn’t try.

It was just so much easier to let the anger sink in, to give in to the irritation and frustration he’d been harbouring over the years than to acknowledge that things had changed and they needed to work together. When his words failed him and his brain buzzed with all the things he could and couldn’t say, it was as if fight or flight took over. Instinct, pure and simple, the easy route, the one that took less explaining, less work to figure out. The path that didn’t have him rethinking his view of the world, or his view of his brother. Didn’t open up the can of worms that maybe there was a part of him that was thankful that Stan had tried, grateful that he was still stubborn and bullheaded even after their fight and had spent all these years working on getting him back.

Sure it was reckless, sure it was foolhardy and he hadn’t listened to any of his warnings- but that was all still so  _Stan_  he didn’t know why he’d ever assume he’d do anything different.

His brother who had fought off every bully, had taken on any challenge that he could for him.

His brother who after ten years of radio silence had come without argument or question to Gravity Falls.

He always jumped straight into the fray, that’s just what he did. And if it was the choice between helping Ford and not trying at all- well there had only ever been one choice, even he knew that.

Ford wasn’t sure why he hadn’t seen it before.

But it wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Thinking about it meant giving Stan another chance, meant letting him in like his heart wanted him to.

And it would just make the inevitable disappointment and pain that much worse when Stan ruined things all over again.

That particular sentiment woke him further, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as if to reprimand him for his choice of words.

Maybe Stan had meant to break his machine all those years ago, that he would never be sure of. But he’d never intentionally pushed him through the portal, nor did it seem like he’d intentionally jumped through himself, trapping both of them this side.

He always tried, was always desperate to do the right thing. Ford just wasn’t sure why it never worked out, why they always ended up in a worse predicament than they had been in before.

All he knew was that it kept happening, and his brother was always at the heart of it.

Ford sighed, turning to flop onto his back, eyes opening to stare at the night sky. Everything was conflicted. He wanted to hate his brother but he couldn’t. He wanted to not care at all, for all the emotions to leave him, hollow as that might be, if only to give him peace. If only for them both to know there was no coming back from this, and that one day they would go their separate ways again without any remorse, without any hesitation or guilt on either side.

…The thing was he didn’t want any of that, either. Not at all.

It was just a congealing mess of confusion in his head, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever have to face. Before when he was all alone, it had been fine. It had made sense. Stan wasn’t there to defend himself. And even if he wasn’t strictly defending himself now- the fact that he was there just threw all these emotions in the air and scattered them to the winds.

He really hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed him. Missed how he couldn’t help but talk to himself, to fill in the silences even if he himself couldn’t engage. How his eyes lit up at the strangest of things, little insignificant specks in the scheme of the universe, the wonders of the worlds that he had since stopped seeing.

Forgotten that his heart was always in the right place even if his decisions weren’t the best course of action.

Forgotten that as much as Stan had always tried to protect him, there was always a part that wanted to look after him in kind.

_“Aww, come on, don’t run off. The party’s just begun. I think we’d get along well, you and I. You’re not like Sixer here.”_

The words slipped into his mind through the darkness, whistled in his ear in that insidious cheerful voice that hid so much malicious intent behind it. Even then it had set off alarm bells, had made him push his brother on, snapping harshly over the voice at him to keep going. Not that Stan had even faltered for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to risk it. He couldn’t have Bill getting to him, couldn’t have him worming his way into his mind and making a deal that neither of them would be able to break.

He didn’t want to think about Bill getting hold of his brother, didn’t want to think of the damage he could cause, or whether he’d be able to fight him. But Stan had shocked him even then, not that he didn’t seem to do that every time they met. Some snide remark, some joking mockery of the dream demon that currently had his minions chasing them through his domain as if they weren’t in a life or death situation.

Again, he don’t know why it had surprised him. Stan always had been one to take on fights he had no means of winning.

It was Bill’s next words that still haunted him, made him question so much as he lay there running over everything inside his head.

_“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s Stan, right? I’ve heard a lot about you. I bet Sixer will tell you how alike we are.”_

…He might have, once upon a time.

But since that moment, he couldn’t help but realise Stan and Bill were nothing alike at all.

Stan might have ruined everything, but there had never been anything malicious behind his actions. He’d always been upfront, always wore his heart on his sleeve.

He was nothing like Bill.

He also didn’t understand what Bill had been trying to do. Did he really think that Stan would turn against him given enough ammunition? Or was he just trying to slow them down enough to catch them?

He still wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d just been toying with them, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop him.

Maybe he’d just wanted to hurt, to manipulate and wound beyond repair.

Whatever it was, they hadn’t stopped, hadn’t even slowed. Stan never once turned around, as if his command to not look back still lay heavily in his mind.

Still it hadn’t stopped him engaging- but when had Stan ever been able not to?

A smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth, remembering how Stan had taken everything in stride, had breathlessly laughed at Bill’s weak attempts to distract him from the task at hand. Made some joke about how hard it was to fool a conman. The smile faded then, a small pang of hurt bubbling up that Stan had actually believed Bill, had joked further that he’d never trust a word Bill said, because no one should ever believe a word out of his own mouth.

He almost hoped that Stan didn’t believe himself then. That the jokes at his expense meant nothing. But he knew there was only so much someone could take before they started to believe what they’d been told throughout their lives.

…He really should try more. It wasn’t like they could change their predicament, so maybe it was time to bite the bullet and focus on communicating, work through their problems like adults and see where that led them.

The only way was up, things couldn’t get worse than they already were between them.

In fact, now seemed like the perfect time.

Waiting on the thoughts would only make them harder to follow through with.

“Hey, Stan?” His mouth felt paper dry, full of cotton wool from sleep and lack of use.

It was now or never. The entire world seemed to hold it’s breath with him, the atmosphere closing in as he waited for a response, as his heart sped up and he willed his mind to come up with the perfect way to start this conversation off on the right foot.

Stan had tried so hard to start it before, so now he would make the effort. He’d let his brother know that he was ready to at least try and see where things would take them.

But a response never came.

Ford blinked, his heart growing heavier with every silent beat. There was something else there now though, a nagging sensation that was quickly becoming louder and louder as he lay there waiting, a niggling doubt that something wasn’t right… that the order of the world had shifted whilst he wasn’t looking and that he needed to know what was happening before he could continue with his train of thought.

And then it hit him like a punch to the gut.

If nothing had woken him and he didn’t need to be awake- why was he?

He sat up straight, the blanket falling off of him as he quickly took stock of their surroundings. He didn’t just wake up, not in the middle of the night, there was always something out there, something amiss. His body had grown used to the danger, used to picking up the almost imperceptible signs of creatures lurking in the shadows, no matter how quiet they tried to be.

“Stan, I need you to-”

The words caught in his throat as he turned to where his brother had been when he fell asleep.

The space beside him was empty.

His breathing hitched, eyes snapping around once more. Stan was nowhere to be seen, his pack, his blanket- gone. He glanced at each of their traps but none of them had been set off, his mind drawing a blank as to why Stan would willingly leave their safe enclosure in the middle of the night.

The unsettling, uneasy tension that had awoken him made an abrupt jarring sense in a way that he wished it didn’t. Wished he could take it back or that he’d noticed sooner rather than later.

It was the feeling of being alone that had woken him. After thirty years he’d thought he was used to it, hadn’t realised, until that very moment, that it was another thing he had been missing from when they had shared a room and his brother had been a calming presence in his peripheral. Had eased his mind and helped him sleep.

Ford stood up, his brother’s name on the tip of his tongue, ready to shout even though he knew how reckless it was, knew how terrible an idea it was- because in that moment he didn’t care, the fear and concern for his brother outweighing all the cons of chasing after him and dragging him back.

And in that singular, minuscule sliver of a second, he wondered if this was the feeling that had driven his brother on for the last thirty years.

A roar interrupted all of his reasoning. A loud reverberating noise that shook him to his core and rooted him to the spot, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as every cell in his body froze in panic.

A piercing, cut off yell followed. A familiar yet unwanted sound, a broken shriek that carried through the wind to him.

He was running towards the sound before his mind caught up to him.

Now was not the time to think.

* * *

It hadn’t taken him long to find them.

If he’d been thinking straight he might have even been proud at his speed, cutting through his own traps with minimal hassle, jumping over what remained in a quick leap and darting off into the woods in one fluid movement.

Instead all that had been going through his head had been:  _Stan, Stan, Stan-_

He didn’t even really remember fighting the creature off, couldn’t give it any discernible features, nothing to scribble down in his journal for the next time they met. Cataloguing hadn’t mattered, not when he’d skidded to a halt in the clearing and seen whatever it was looming over his brother’s prone body.

He knew that it had claws, because that was all his eyes had managed to focus on for a millisecond, gleaming white in the moonlight and dripping with a dark substance where they pressed down on Stan’s chest.

Time stood still in that instance, his breath ghosting out of him in a cloud of ice. He couldn’t seem to take a breath in, winded by a blow, eyes and mind locked in place as Stan lay there, far too still and paler than he had any right to be.

It didn’t suit him, he wasn’t made to be quiet and still, that wasn’t how he ever wanted to see him.

And then the atmosphere popped, his breath pulled in in a sucking gasp, a relief that couldn’t fully manifest as Stan’s hand twitched. It sluggishly pushed at the talons holding him down, as if his weak motions could do anything about his predicament. The claws dug in again in response though, eliciting a soft whimper that tore down his barriers, as the creature remembered the prey beneath it, dragging back its attention from Ford’s loud and sudden entrance.

The rage took over then, that thick viscous lava that bubbled up from deep inside his core to spill out of his mouth in a roar that rivalled the creature’s earlier one. He pulled his gaze away from Stan, fired almost blindly as red descended on his vision. The acrid scent of burning fur singed the air, a grim satisfaction flowing through his veins as the creature shrieked, lurching away from him as he continued his assault, ready and willing to give chase as it fled- right up until a pained groan sapped the rage from his bones and replaced it with the telltale thorns of concern, its thick vines coiling around his heart and choking the growl still bubbling in his throat.

Well, most of the fury was doused at the very least.

He took a deep breath, heart still hammering against his rib cage as he continued to stare out into the dark woods, watching the space where the creature had vanished from view, just in case it foolhardily decided to return.

The deep breath didn’t help the rumble that accompanied his words, however, the clap of thunder that he couldn’t seem to quell.

“ _Stan_! What on  _Earth_ -”

“Don’t.”

The word held no bite, unlike his own, yet it stopped him in his tracks all the same.

There was just something completely warped about it. A tired, numb acceptance. A cold hollow note. One that didn’t mesh with the Stan he knew.

And that was somehow worse than everything so far.

Concern won out against caution. Ford span around to his twin, finding him trying unsuccessfully to sit himself up unaided. He watched, heart pounding in his ears as Stan grimaced, shuffling himself backwards until he hit a tree with a choked yelp and promptly eased himself to relax against it. His eyes finally found Ford’s then, a mixture of tired disappointment and nervous guilt swirling in them, almost enough to make Ford back down.

“Please? Just- don’t.”

Almost.

Ford sighed, his arm dropping to his side as he walked towards him. He pushed Stan’s hands out of the way where they clutched at his side, ignoring his poor attempts to stop him. He hissed sympathetically at the gouges that had been left there, deep jagged lines, a swipe that he had no doubt been unable to dodge. His voice at least came out quieter this time, more disheartened, laced with worry and far more familial than his earlier full on anger. “What were you thinking, Stan?”

A pulse of regret slipped through him as Stan’s face fell further, his eyes bright and questioning in a way that begged why he couldn’t just leave well enough alone. But then the moment passed, and Stan seemed to pull himself out of the slump, struggling to sit himself up straighter even while Ford tried his best to keep him from jostling his wound too much.

“When do I ever think, Poindexter? Tha-” A wince punctuated his cheeky grin, though it hadn’t quite reached the mark anyway. “That’s your job.”

Ford couldn’t help the smile that appeared for a second in return, the fact that Stan was attempting his usual jokes enough to calm him, at least a little. Maybe the wound was worse than it looked, maybe he was overthinking, overprotective. Stan seemed to relax with him, leaning into the tree, his grin growing more genuine as Ford checked over him.

A frown filled with abject confusion set in quickly through the small modicum of relief, however.

“Still. You should have woken me if you heard something. You shouldn’t have just gone out on your own… blindly…”

Ford’s words caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the pack nearby. A strap had been cut in two, frayed and bloodied from the onslaught, he was sure, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. Instead his eyes followed the pack’s contents, scattered out in a wide arc across the ground. His mind followed the trail further, remembering how the camp had been when he awoke, how it had felt, how none of it had made sense…

How completely devoid of his brother it had become.

Almost as if he’d never been there at all.

The dots began to connect into a picture he really didn’t want to see, dousing him in ice cold water that made it hard to breathe as a wave of realisation hit him like a punch to the stomach.

There had been no hurry in the preparations, no sudden scramble at a creature in the night. It was all too planned, too slow.

Ford hadn’t had time to disengage the traps when he heard that roar. He hadn’t had time to grab his pack before bounding off into the darkness.

But Stan had.

Ford leaned back away from him then, sitting back on his feet in a slump as he stared at Stan in wide eyed shock, permeated with a hurt he couldn’t contain. It was a look Stan didn’t seem able to take, quickly glancing at his own hands as if to escape, as if the blood drying slowly on his palms was much more pressing. He hunched into himself as Ford spoke, his shoulders quickly locking around his ears. “You were leaving.”

It wasn’t even a question. Just a statement of a fact.

Stan had been leaving, vanishing all over again from his life.

And somehow the fact that it was willingly this time, stung more than anything else.

“Well, I mean… it’s not like I’m helping at all, is it?” Stan’s eyes found his face again for all of two seconds, trying his best to seem nonchalant but failing miserably as he went to scratch as his beard, grimacing in disgust at the smear of blood he inadvertently left with the movement. “Look, you’ve done fine without me for thirty years, so I reckoned- I mean, I just thought- You’d probably have a better chance of getting home without me…”

_Ruining it for you._

The words didn’t need to be said for Ford to get it.

It didn’t mean he had to like it though, the taste of the words bitter at the back of his throat as they slid cold and slimy into the pit of his stomach.

Ford swallowed audibly, pushing past the remorse and the shame to lean forward, once again pushing past Stan’s hovering hands to check the wound over. He couldn’t seem to get the words he needed to out, couldn’t disagree or argue, and he hated that his tongue was stuck fast. That even now, when he’d already resolved himself earlier to communicate better, to try- he couldn’t seem to do it.

“We need to get this stitched up.”

…Perfect. Communication at its finest.

He could have almost huffed out a laugh if the circumstances weren’t so awkward and cold. He always did fall on cold, hard facts when all else failed him.

Not that Stan seemed to hear him, his eyes lost to the middle distance.

“Can’t even do that right.”

Ford sighed, heart twisting guiltily. “Stan…”

“What? It’s true… can’t even leave without causing a scene.”

“Well, causing a scene  _is_  what you do best.” The teasing words fell out without effort, though he found himself wincing all the same, head snapping back to Stan’s face to check for his reaction.

Thankfully, at the very least, the glazed expression lifted at his words, Stan’s mind seemingly warring between hurt at his agreement and jokingly affronted shock, but present nonetheless. The shock was winning out though, a confused but hopeful smile twisting at his lips as he eyed up Ford suspiciously.

“I guess that might true.”

“Of course it’s true. The lies you used to spin to Ma about why we were out past curfew, with enough flourish to stop her asking about whatever else it was we were hiding? Or- what about that time we got caught sneaking in to watch a movie we were most definitely not old enough to watch? I didn’t even know popcorn could go that far.” A bubble of laughter escaped him as he shook his head. “Somehow you always managed to cause a scene and get us out of trouble at the same time.”

“Attention and misdirection.” Stan blinked slowly up at him, words slurred enough that Ford began to worry before he chuckled lowly. “I’d forgotten about that- what even was that movie?”

Ford huffed, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “No idea. I do remember you jumping out of your chair though.”

“Oh ho- I’m pretty sure that was  _you_ , actually. Also sure it was you squeaking that got us caught too.”

Ford smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. “If you say so. Maybe I’ll believe you when you can actually recall what movie it was though. Now-” He tugged at Stan’s hand, pulling it up onto his shoulder as he squatted beside him. “Let’s get back to camp and get that wound seen to.” He was both relieved and anxious at how little fight Stan put up against his actions, just giving a pained grunt as he was pulled into an upright position before leaning heavily against him as he struggled not to lose his footing beneath him.

He could already tell the pace would be slow going, but there was a distinct determined glint to Stan’s expression under the clammy pallor. As if it was taking all of his focus to put one foot in front of the other and keep himself upright enough that he wasn’t practically using Ford as a crutch.

Ford didn’t know whether or not to tell him that he could lean on him more, maybe even make a joke about how he was stronger than the Poindexter Stan probably remembered from their teenage years.

…He also earnestly wanted to tell him he shouldn’t push himself so hard, to tell him to breathe and relax and let him take over now.

He wondered if his words would be accepted or taken as a challenge. It really could go either way so instead he held his tongue and focused on logistics.

“What about the pack?”

Ford frowned as Stan spoke, a soft slur to his words, or perhaps it was the nonsensical nature of it that made Ford pause, a nervous lilt to his voice. “Sorry?”

“The pack. Can’t just leave it, right?”

He blinked, following Stan’s gaze downwards to the strewn torn pack and then back to his hold around his brother’s waist. “It can wait. We’ve got more important things to worry about first.”

“We do?”

Ford didn’t even dignify that with an answer, giving his brother a nudge to walk forwards and keeping him on task. He couldn’t quite decide if the question was a new worry born from the wound and blood loss, or whether there was an underlying cause that had been there far longer that he just hadn’t noticed.

Somehow the thought that he didn’t  _know_  the answermade everything feel far colder and more foreboding than it had any right to be.

They really needed to work on that communication.

But first, he had to make sure Stan’s wound wasn’t going to cause anymore damage than it already had.

He shut out Stan’s soft mumbles beside him, the pained hisses through gritted teeth and half whispered sentences that didn’t belong. He couldn’t get distracted, couldn’t take more time, he just needed to press them both on, muttering soft apologies and quick flitting encouragements with every obstacle they overcame.

The dying light of the fire brought a new bout of relief to his heart as he dragged his now weary brother the last few steps into the grove. He pulled the remains of their recently torn trap out of the way with his free hand and ignored it in favour of sitting Stan down safely near the fire, even if said brother was still staring at the trap with a bemused expression.

“I just fixed that, you know.”

“Yes, well, I had to break it.” Ford’s words were half muttered, back to his brother as he fumbled through his pack for the items he’d need, eyes still half on the fire to make sure it caught the logs he’d haphazardly thrown it before it died entirely. A snort caught his attention, his eyebrow raising as he glanced at his chuckling brother. “What?”

“Just imagining you all tangled up in your own traps.” Stan grinned wide at him, eyes still shining with pain that he was trying so desperately not to show in the grimace of his teeth.

Ford huffed, leaning on the crutch of a conversation Stan was giving them both as he shuffled over, arms filled with an assortment of items that he dropped next to Stan’s knee before kneeling in front of him. “Good thing for you I just cut through it without a thought then.”

Stan snorted again, shaking his head with more bemused glee. “Not a very good trap if you just need a knife.”

Ford hummed, pulling away Stan’s shirt as he continued to speak, ignoring the involuntary leap of his heart at the amount of blood soaked into it and the now far more visible wound beneath. “Fair. We’ll have to think up some better ones then, won’t we?”

There was something warmer in Stan’s eyes as he looked back up at him for a second before getting back to work, something hopeful and earnest that made his stomach tie itself in knots.

“…Guess we will.”

Ford gulped at the soft, hesitant words before letting his mind slip into focus. The wound wasn’t too deep, he was happy to see, but it was still a worry when they were in the middle of nowhere with limited resources at their disposal. “Stan, this is probably going to hurt- a lot, and I need you to do everything you can not to scream, OK?”

He glanced back up as Stan let out another bark of laughter, eyes crinkling in old, twisted amusement. “Please. You say that as if I haven’t had to do my own stitches before.” Somehow the words didn’t bring Ford the amusement or comfort they seemed to be giving Stan. “I know the drill. 'Least I’ve got you to do them for me this time, you’ll probably do a far better job.”

Ford opened his mouth, questions and curiosity clamouring at the back of his throat, until suddenly he thought better of it, biting down on it all with a snap. He took a small bottle from the ground beside him, drenching a small length of bandage in an acrid smelling liquid that had them both scrunching up their noses in disgust. He glanced up at his brother’s face, his teeth already gritted in preparation. “Ready? This will sting-”

“Just get on with it, Sixer. The sooner the better-  _fuck_.”

Ford winced sympathetically, a soft distraught noise escaping him to mingle with Stan’s pained whine as he snapped his mouth shut, eyes following quickly, as he desperately tried not to make a sound. He tried to be as quick as possible, whilst still being thorough, his eyes trained on the wound even though everything inside of him screamed to look up, to comfort and protect him in his hour of need.

When he finally did risk a glance up from his work, his heartstrings twanged painfully, his brother’s pallid face and agonised expression more than he could bear.

He needed to distract them both, before his brother hurt himself further focusing on the pain of it all.

There had to be something, something that would keep Stan’s mind elsewhere and centred while he worked. Keep him from tightening his jaw and his blunt fingernails from biting deep into his palms-

“Tell me about them.”

The words came out without a thought.

“…Them?”

Ford licked his lips, his mouth dry as he continued with his ministrations. He could feel Stan’s gaze burning into the top of his skull, perplexed and unknowing of the myriad of thoughts running through Ford’s head. He wasn’t even sure he really knew either. There had been many options, he could have pulled out any number of questions about Stan’s life. But there was only one that caught his attention as much as he knew it would catch Stan’s, one that had a glimmer of positivity to it instead of lingering regrets and the biting fear of regretting ever asking in the first place. An image that still distracted him from time to time, when the world was quiet and Stan was asleep. That crystalline moment when he had been lost for words and short on time- when the nightmare realm pulsed bright and brash around them but seemed to fall around his ears as his brother took over his senses. As he shouted about what waited for them back home. The family he knew nothing about. “The kids. The ones you- tell me about them?”

The world was quiet for a few moments more. His hands almost shook as he doused the needle between his fingers with more of the same liquid, his eyes trained on the gleam of it in the firelight as the world seemed to bubble around them, silent and cold and filled with doubtful nerves. Stan’s breath hissed out of him, almost as if he didn’t quite believe that Ford was even asking, as if he wasn’t sure he was hearing things as he waited for Ford to continue with the matter at hand.

And then the world filled with colour once more.

The words bubbled out of Stan, like a dam bursting inside of him. What started out as a trickle, awkward and questioning soon became a rush, a flood. The desperate need for Ford to understand, to know them coursing through every breathless sentence.

The twins, more twins in the family, of course there were, it made sense in a distant sort of way. He was a Great Uncle, which meant he was also an Uncle, the burst of familial glee thudding through his chest as Stan brought bright sparks of light out with each and every word, in amongst the stutters that the needle brought forth. He didn’t know them, hadn’t even thought that he could feel joy at family that didn’t exist in his mind until then and yet- there it was, beating through his heart and burning through his system.

A nephew. One so like him that Stan couldn’t seem to make that clear enough, repeating it over and over again. So smart, so curious, always looking for answers no matter the danger or adventure that lurked behind them. Always needing an answer to every question put before him. Yet the more he listened, the more he could see Stan in him too, so ready to protect, to fight.

A niece. So bright, so shining, full of light and hope, who only ever wanted to see the good in the world. Whose pet name changed with every sentence as if Stan couldn’t help but give her terms of endearment at every turn, wrapped entirely around her little finger. Always ready to jump into the fray and try something new- a new fascination, a new brilliant scheme that was suddenly all encompassing and had to be explored that she caught him off guard every single time and made Ford chuckle at his exasperated words.

How together, there was nothing they couldn’t do. How he’d watched them overcome everything that was thrown against them and couldn’t be more proud of them. How he’d move heaven and earth to keep them safe.

Ford bit his tongue to stop from interrupting, continuing with his stitches as Stan spoke. It was easier then, the stutters disjointed and vague as Stan lost himself in the memories, periodically snapping back to grimace in pain and halfheartedly shift away from his ministrations before realising what he was doing and force himself back. He was trying his best so Ford did his. He pressed his hand down on his leg whenever he moved too much and he was worried he might accidentally hurt him further. Encouraged him to speak instead of asking further questions that might make him lose his train of thought.

But he wanted to. Desperately so.

Wanted to say that they both reminded him of them, before everything had gone so wrong. How every word reminded him of another time, another world, when they had had their adventures on a sandy beach and everything had made far more sense than it ever had afterwards.

He wanted to meet them. Wanted to tell Stan as much. That they sounded perfectly amazing, unique in their own ways and brilliant together.

But somehow he wasn’t sure any of the words would come out, not without other more painful memories bubbling up with them in the conversation. Recollections that might break the peaceful mirage they had created between them. Break the stalemate, break the connection that had been finally been made after so many years.

Break the small thread that might even now be stopping Stan from trying to leave at a moments notice.

“It’s because of Mabel that I’m here.”

And just like that, the world snapped back into focus for both of them.

Stan’s body locked up, his fists tightening as Ford pulled back. He watched warily as a flurry of emotions whipped across Stan’s face, each one struggling to make it’s way completely to the surface amidst the others. He waited patiently, mostly done with his stitches, dousing a new clean bandage in antiseptic to clean his finished work, but leaving off from applying it until Stan’s words were ready to tumble forth.

This felt too important to ignore.

“That came out wrong.” Stan groaned, scrubbing at his eyes, his body hunching forward as if to hide from the world. “I’m not blaming- I shouldn’t have said that.”

“…Stan?” The word was quiet, questioning and non-judgemental, but Stan still flinched as if he’d shouted. “Stan… what exactly happened?”

He’d never actually told him, though then again he’d never asked. It hadn’t mattered before now, he hadn’t even questioned it. His idiotic brother had not only reopened the portal but fallen through it. Of course he had, why had he imagined him doing anything differently?

But now… now that didn’t sit right. Now that he thought about it, he needed to know. Stan wouldn’t have willingly jumped through, not if these kids meant as much to him as his words suggested. Not when they needed him, just as much as he needed them.

And if he didn’t purposefully jump through then… there had to be a reason for him falling through. A notion that hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Had he been pushed? Had there been a fight? Had Bill-

Why hadn’t he questioned this before?

Silence reigned once more between them, the breeze in the trees and the crackle of the fire loud and abrasive against his ears as Stan continued to curl in on himself, shame bleeding out of every pore.

Ford let him be then, let him decide on what to say or do as he nudged his arm out of the way once more and got back to work, hoping that the distance the motions gave them would help him continue. Even if his mind screamed and buzzed with all of it’s now barely contained questions, he knew that forcing the issue wouldn’t help matters.

“She almost fell through.” Ford’s hand stalled for a moment, a flash of panic fizzling through him at the notion, though he crushed it quickly and went back to work before Stan could think better of his words and stop altogether. “She- they found out about the portal. I thought I was doing so well but they found it-” He choked on a laugh, a cold, dispassionate sound that didn’t suit him. “Too smart for their own good, the pair of them. And I was  _so close_  to getting you back, I couldn’t let them stop-” He stuttered to a halt, his emotions getting the better of him as if he was there all over again, hands twitching at his sides. “Dipper wanted to shut it down, he didn’t trust a word I said 'cause I’d been lying for so long. But Mabel- Mabel couldn’t do that. She still believed in me after everything and it almost got her-” He shuddered, closing his eyes against the wave of pain that shook through his system. “I had to- I couldn’t-”

_Couldn’t lose someone else like that. Not again._

Stan didn’t need to finish for him to get it.

Ford shushed him softly, his free hand finding Stan’s shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. No words were forthcoming but Stan seemed relieved all the same at the sentiment. Exhaled a long and shaky breath when there were no biting words, no scathing remarks for what had happened. Maybe if he’d been there the circumstances would have been different, but he couldn’t fault Stan for pushing himself into danger to stop someone he loved from being hurt.

The earlier image of him prone on the ground resurfaced from the quagmire of his mind. That pallid, cold complexion, the feeble attempts at movement and the hissing stifled breaths. With it came that boiling fire, that urge to chase after the creature, to hunt it down and make sure it could never hurt him again.

And then came the cold. The ice that bit through all the anger and left his blood and bones hollow and brittle in their wake.

The thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t woken. The thought of waking up in the bright, harsh light of day and finding the dead husk of a fire and an empty space where his brother had been.

It felt like a part of his heart pulsed with that remorseful image. The space that would have gaped open into a hole in the shape of his brother, just like it had all those years ago, when even through all the pain and anger and betrayal he had still felt the piece of him that had gone missing along with his brother’s car careening down the road.

…He hadn’t realised that Stan had filled that space back up so quickly.

_I can’t lose you again._

It was that notion that gave him the courage to speak a few moments later, twisting the words around and around his head in tandem with the bandages between his fingers. The quiet had become warmer between them, no cold flashes of pain or awkward tension born from frayed nerves and fiery concern. The tension had ruptured along with Stan’s outburst, a tiredness setting in in its wake as it was released from Stan’s frame and out of their camp’s safe haven on the breeze.

“Hey, Stan?”

“Yeah?”

Ford gulped, eyes focused on his work, still bandaging Stan’s chest. “Please don’t do that again.”

The silence stretched on for a beat longer than he expected, his hands tightening around the length of bandage as he tried to think up every positive reason his brother should stay, every argument that he might need to bring forth without it actually turning into one.

“…If you really don’t want me to.”

Ford’s head snapped up, eyes finding Stan’s as every coherent thought vanished from his head in response. “Of course I don’t want you to leave! Not like that- Never like that.”

He waited with bated breath as Stan scrutinised him, eyes suspicious and doubtful before the tension eased and he deflated, head falling forwards as he closed his eyes.

“Alright, Sixer, alright. I won’t do that again.”

A tight band he hadn’t even known had formed released around his heart, a steady stream of air whistling out of him as he relaxed as well. He tied off the end of the bandages, gripping Stan’s shoulder in a firm, reassuring squeeze, and was rewarded as Stan’s hand came up to greet his, giving it a few awkward taps in return, a soft, tired smile forming across his face at the motion.

It was, at the very least, a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Depending on how you see this. Ford realising how much he missed his twin. Or him actually openly showing it/Stan seeing it. Hoping this leads nicely into ‘Sentimentality’ from their very rocky reunion in the last part.
> 
> Also a passage I had to cut cause I couldn’t think where to put it but liked it all the same which is annoying as heck:
> 
> For a split second when Stan had begun to fight with him, an intrusive thought had told him to leave him. That if he wanted to stay so badly then he could do so alone.
> 
> The thought had died as quickly as it appeared though. He might be angry, he might be furious even- but Stan was still his brother, and he wouldn’t wish Bill’s wrath on anyone, let alone his twin.


End file.
